


Come Dowsed in Mud

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Closing his eyes, Draco brought Granger's knickers up to his face and buried his nose in them to become acquainted with her scent. As he inhaled deeply, he knew his trousers were tenting out over the curve of his cock. Draco couldn't help himself. He was holding Granger's knickers, they still smelt of her - heady and salty and tangy and earthy - and</i> God <i>did he need to get off. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Dowsed in Mud

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Come As You Are," written by Kurt Cobain.

He didn't know if Granger had hexed him unawares or if he was suffering from some mysterious and grievous calamity that had addled his brains. Surely there was _some_ explanation for his as-of-yet unexplainable behaviour over the last few weeks. Following Granger around on the grounds in hopes that a gust of wind would blow her robes up. Hiding behind aisles in the library trying to get a glimpse up her skirt as she reached for books on the top shelf. Contemplating charming her skirt to bunch up about her waist while she stood at her cauldron in Potions class. This was wrong. This was sick. This was--

This was obsession.

Draco Malfoy was rapidly becoming obsessed with Hermione Granger's knickers, and he was quite put out over the whole thing.

Draco wasn't used to being anything other than normal and he didn't like how he felt at the moment.

Well, he liked _how_ he felt at the moment because he was currently having it off, but if someone were to interrupt him and ask him how he felt as a _person_ , he would have said two things. One - he was having it off and that if the interrupter didn't vacate the premises immediately, said interrupter would find themselves hexed bollocks-less and wearing Malfoy come like one would wear specs. Two - he felt like a piece of common wizarding rubbish, no better than a Weasley, for tossing himself off over photographs of Granger's knickers and " _Obliviate_."

Yes, he had photographs of Granger's knickers - sort of - and he was wanking off while looking at them.

One of the best things about being a member of the Inquisitorial Squad was that Draco was allowed to dock house points. All it took to convince Potter-Lover Creevey to get photos of Granger's knickers was to threaten removing fifty house points from Gryffindor if he refused. How Creevey managed to take pictures up Granger's skirt without her noticing was beyond Draco, but the how wasn't his concern. What was his concern was that Creevey delivered the goods and the goods were definitely helping to make this particular wank the most satisfying in a very long time.

_/One slightly-scuffed shoe grazed the top of the other as Granger crossed her legs at the ankles. A hand appeared under the table to smooth the pleats of her skirt on the top of her legs./_

_Come on, Mudblood_ , Draco willed, staring so hard at the photograph that his eyes began to burn. Tension was building in his sac something fierce and he began to alternate the motion of his hand. Stroke stroke squeeze. Stroke squeeze stroke. Squeeze stroke stroke. 

_/She rubbed a heel against the opposite ankle, then slowly began to uncross her legs. One foot hooked round the leg of her chair while the other one--/_

Gritting his teeth, Draco loosened his fist until his fingers were a lazy ring around his cock. Blood pounded in his ears and breathing was heavy and laboured through his nose. His skin was hot and slick and he would have came instantly when he pushed back the foreskin to pinch the head had he not wanted to wait so badly until he saw _it_ to come. He wouldn't come until he saw it; he promised himself that. The tension was coiled so tightly in his balls that it _hurt_ but it wasn't time. 

As the image in the photograph moved, so did Draco's fingers. Granger's right foot skittered lightly over the floor as her leg shifted, and Draco grasped and rolled the skin at the head of his cock between two fingers. 

_/--the other one slid across the floor. Granger's foot arced out to the side and then slipped back, her foot hooking under the other leg of the chair. Her hand pushed the skirt up a few inches and two fingers scratched at a spot above the knee. The higher the skirt went, the better the view was up her skirt. She leaned back in her chair ever-so-slightly but just enough so that a shadowy bit of fabric could be seen in the space between her legs._

_Her knickers./_

Time.

His cock _throbbing_ , Draco let himself go with a great jerk of his hips. As his seed came out in long, fat strings, spilling over his hand and onto the photograph, pooling atop Granger's glorious Mudblooded knickers, he exhaled with a shuttering gasp. After a beat, he inhaled deeply and sank to the floor, dizzy and sated, all thanks to Granger and her knickers.

****

As O.W.L.s loomed nearer and nearer, Granger's hex either grew stronger or the mysterious and grievous calamity addling his brains worsened. Draco couldn't go a day without having it off while watching the Mudblood's little peek show in the photograph. He just couldn't get enough of Granger spreading her legs and revealing that hint of knickers. He didn't even know what her knickers actually looked like - whether they were fancy or plain, how they were cut, what colour they were - because of poor lighting and the natural shadowing from her skirt and the table-top in the photograph, but it wasn't important. They were the Mudblood's knickers, no matter what colour or style they might happen to be, and he was quite certain he was the only bloke to ever see them. He was also quite certain that Granger would be mortified to know that he had a photograph of her bits, covered though they were, and that thought, when had in the middle of a toss, usually sent an extra jolt of pleasure right to his groin.

One evening, at the conclusion of a very satisfying wank, it occurred to Draco that his status as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad entitled him to certain privileges others weren't afforded. For instance, if he fancied a trip down to the Laundry at half-one in the morning to nick a pair of Granger's knickers from her basket, he could.

As it just so happened, Draco _did_ fancy a trip down to the Laundry at half-one in the morning to nick a pair of Granger's knickers from her basket, and so he set off to do just that.

Normally he would not put himself in even the slightest of proximities of house-elves, but they did do the laundry and surely one of the little bits of vermin would know which basket belonged to Mudblood. Fortunately, the first elf Draco happened upon was more than delighted to point Draco in the right direction. It was rather good for the elf that it decided to be agreeable, as Draco would have had to charm its ears in a bow had it given him cheek. As it led him, walking backwards and bowing all the while, to Granger's laundry basket, Draco wondered what the knickers would look like up close and personal.

Would they be high-cut and lacy? Briefs big enough to fit two Mudbloods and made out of cheap satin? Close-fitting, boring, and cotton? Black? White? Pink? Red? Have some sort of ridiculous floral pattern? 

The closer Draco got to Granger's basket, the quicker his pulse raced.

"Here it is, Draco Malfoy, sir," squeaked the elf, bowing repeatedly in front of a boring, standard-finished wicker basket in a back corner of the room. 

The anticipation of seeing Granger's knickers in person at last was overwhelming and the thin hold Draco had on his patience snapped. "Out of my way," he said irritably, kicking the elf to the side when it didn't move fast enough for his liking.

Producing his wand, Draco leaned over the basket and got an eyeful of garish Gryffindor colours. School robes, jumpers, knee socks. Everything was folded neatly and on three separate stacks in the basket. Had he not noticed that the garments were slightly wrinkled, Draco would have thought that he was looking at a basket of freshly-washed clothes. It figured that Granger would be just as much of an annoying perfectionist about the way her laundry went in the basket as she was with every other bloody thing Draco saw her do. 

Impatient to find his prize, he thrust his wand into the basket and began poking various bits of fabric and knocking garments off the neat piles until finally he found what he'd been looking for. 

Knickers.

While he'd been searching through Granger's laundry, Draco came to the conclusion that Granger would ultimately have one of two sorts of knickers. His first thought was that Granger would have very naughty underwear - lace or satin or both, black or red or brightly coloured, high-cut and barely covering her arse. His second thought was that Granger would have the most boring, plain knickers possible. He'd been hoping for the first because the idea of uptight Granger walking about school acting as proper as could be while wearing knickers befitting a slag was more than a touch arousing. 

The knickers he was now holding in his hand weren't made of lace or satin. They weren't red or black or some other bold colour. They weren't high-cut or of any other daring sort of cut. 

White, cotton briefs were what Draco was holding. He smirked as he studied them, rubbing his thumb just under the elastic waistband. The fabric was slightly worn and cool and soft to the touch. Draco wondered how much warmer the fabric would feel if Granger's skin was beneath it. He wondered if she would be hot for someone to touch her where her knickers covered, how she would smell through the cotton, how--

_Smell._

Closing his eyes, Draco brought Granger's knickers up to his face and buried his nose in them to become acquainted with her scent. As he inhaled deeply, he knew his trousers were tenting out over the curve of his cock. Draco couldn't help himself. He was holding Granger's knickers, they still smelt of her - heady and salty and tangy and earthy - and _God_ did he need to get off. 

Another inhalation flooded his lungs with Granger's smell and his cock twitched. Yes, he would have to take care of that now. With great effort, Draco lowered the knickers and pushed off the wall. He had to free his cock from the confines of his trousers _now_ because he needed to touch himself, to bring himself to the brink while holding Granger's knickers, and in the moment right before he would let go he would smell those knickers, and he would lick and _taste_ the cotton that had covered her cunt and were coated with her taste and _then_ he would come so fucking hard that he would sleep for--

"What do you think you're doing?"

Draco's eyes flew open and he found himself staring at the very witch whose knickers he happened to have just been sniffing. He balled the knickers up in his hand and lowered it, his lips twisting into what he hoped was a mocking sneer. Damn her for interrupting him. "Inspecting the work around here, Granger," he said casually.

Her eyes flickered to his hand and back to his face, her cheeks colouring slightly. "So it's your duty to inspect the cleanliness of knickers now, is it?" The crack in Granger's voice betrayed the stoic look on her face and Draco's sneer deepened. 

"My duty isn't any of your business." 

"Are you sure about that?" Granger asked. Draco followed her gaze and smirked as she gestured to the prominent way his trousers were pushed out in the front. 

"Perhaps," he said noncommittally. 

Granger held his gaze for a long moment before giving him a look of great disgust and turning on her heel.

"Leaving so soon, Mudblood?" Draco called, shifting his weight and hissing as his cock rubbed against his trousers.

She stopped in her tracks and pivoted, facing him. "You're breaking curfew," she said, crossing her arms about her chest. 

"Inquisitorial Squad members have no curfew," he shot back, dropping his eyes to the hem of her skirt, watching the way it swayed slightly just above her knees. "Regular prefects such as yourself, however, do. Whatever are you doing out after curfew all by your lonesome, Granger? Potter and Weasley too busy having it off together to include little old you, so you figured you'd come have a nice chat with a house-elf to while away the hours?" Waggling his brows for effect, he added, "It makes sense, I suppose, because they're the only things around here as pathetic as you." It would be so easy, Draco thought, to just push that skirt up and see Granger in her knickers. She was right there in front of him, the inspiration for his wanking for weeks now, and he could find out how warm she was, how much stronger her scent was in the flesh rather than the ghost of a scent on a pair of balled-up knickers in his hand....

"I don't owe you any explanation," Granger said, her eyes flashing. "The Inquisitorial Squad isn't going to last, Malfoy, so enjoy it while you still can. Dumbledore will be back soon enough and, when he is, your squad is going to be disbanded, and the proper Hogwarts rules will be back in place, where they belong."

"Enjoy it while I still can, eh?" 

"That's what I said." 

Draco considered the knickers in his hand and tossed them in Granger's basket. "Thank you, Granger," he said, taking a step toward her. "That's the soundest thing you've said all evening. I think I'll do just that."

Walking a slow circle around her, Draco ran his fingers along the hem of the skirt. Her shoulders stiffened as he circled her for a second time, and when he stopped in front of her he leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "Right now you're very cross with me, Granger. That's to be expected. But I promise you that you're going to forget all about that very, very soon."

"I doubt that, Malfoy," she said in a low voice, her hands clenching into fists at her side. 

"But I do," he returned, pulling back with a lazy smile. Just behind her was a large laundry bin, settled right below a large chute. Perfect. When he pressed his body against hers, she had no choice but to back up to try to get away from him, and only succeeded in moving right against the laundry bin. Draco laid a hand palm-flat on the bin just beside her head and rubbed himself against her thigh. He was just as hard now as he'd been right before she had interrupted him, and he wasn't about to let her go anywhere until he came like he'd wanted.

"Stop this, Malfoy," she said, pulling her arms in close. Draco assumed she was doing it to protect herself somehow, but all it really did was give her the appearance of being even smaller than she was. 

"What if I don't want to do that?" he asked, hooking his fingers under the skirt's hem. 

Granger stared back at him silently and, to his surprise, reached out to press the heel of her palm against his trouser fronts. 

"Nnnghhh." Draco grunted, his pelvis doing a hard, slow grind against her hand. 

"You like that," she said slowly.

All Draco could do was nod, a hiss escaping his lips as his hips rolled back in the opposite direction.

"Too bad." Granger's voice turned positively venomous and then there was pain - bright and hot and unbearable. She squeezed his cock through his trousers and was _twisting_ it and it fucking _hurt_.

Draco let out a strangled sob and pushed her hand away, jolting back at the same time.

"Mudblood slag," he gasped, panting.

"Knicker-sniffer," she shot back, her hand now diving into her robes. 

"No wand," Draco scolded, encircling her wrist with his hand. 

"Of course you'd like it that way," Granger ground out, giving him a scathing look as he held her wrist fast to the laundry bin. "No duelling means you won't be bested by a witch."

"Granger," Draco drawled, amused by her savage look, "you couldn't best me if you tried every dirty trick Potter's got up his sleeve."

Granger considered that for a moment and stopped her struggling. "You're wrong, Malfoy," she said lazily. "You're the one who was sniffing _my_ knickers. You needed a little something extra to get it off, didn't you?" The corners of her mouth quirked up in a smug smile and Draco hated her more right then than he ever had before. "So," she continued, quite pleased with herself, "as it seems, I bested you without even trying." She leaned in closer and Draco wanted to pull away, but he stood his ground. "It must really burn you up, Malfoy," whispered Granger, her breath tickling his ear, "that it takes sniffing a _Mudblood_ 's knickers to get you all in a state." 

Keeping a lid on his temper, Draco merely smiled. "Let's see your knickers then." 

"No." Granger stuck her nose up in the air. "You've had enough of a look at my knickers already, from what I've seen."

Fine. It wasn't as though he had expected her to comply.

"All right." 

Shrugging, Draco dropped to his knees and deftly flipped up Granger's skirt, holding it in place low on her belly with one hand. The other hovered just over her knickers. 

Oh shite, her knickers were briefs and plain and _white_. Draco was looking at knickers actually _on_ Granger rather than studying them in a photograph, and there was a slight warmth radiating from skin and close cotton that he could feel on his fingers. He closed the minute gap between her cotton knickers and his hand and let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. There Granger was, nearly in all her glory, and damn but those boring knickers looked brilliant. The bright whiteness of the knickers contrasted nicely with her skin, her legs all long and milky-looking. He hadn't ever taken notice before, but Granger actually had rather nice legs. If Pansy knew about Granger's legs, she'd be more jealous than she already was. Granger's legs were long, which was surprising as she was petite, and feminine and Draco wanted to lick them. 

So he did. 

Draco ran his hand down to one of her thighs and urged her legs apart, then dipped his head in and ran his tongue up along the inside of a thigh using one hot, broad go of it, mindful to reach as far as he could with his tongue. Under the slide of his tongue he could feel her thigh quiver and there was a similar sensation in his cock. As he sat up to languidly lick his lips, he could see Granger's knees tremble. Brushing his nose against her centre, Draco laughed softly. The Mudblood hadn't bothered to actually stop him and Draco didn't intend to stop, either. He was so close, she was right there, and he could smell her. 

She smelt even better in person than her old knickers had. It was stronger and fresher: intoxicating and tart and sharp and fucking _carnal_. The smell made Draco's mouth water and suddenly he'd had enough of waiting. It was time to taste and take. 

Opening his mouth, he let out a puff of breath against the pure white cotton, and then he pressed his lips on that pristine fabric, moving lower and lower until he felt Granger push her hips forward. She did want it, even if she wouldn't dare wind her fingers in his hair or settle her hands on his shoulders in admission. That realisation alone made Draco's cock twitch again and he darted his tongue out to run it along the cloth covering her cunt. His tongue was slippery from his spit and Granger's wetness. She was wet for him, and he was hard for her, and he would hold this moment over her head forever because it was too perfect. 

Once he'd yanked her knickers down, Draco wasted no more time and traced the shape of Granger's cunt with his tongue. Above him, he could hear Granger moan, a sound which became more guttural as his fingers separated her folds, opening her to him. 

"Such a little Gryffindor tart, Granger," Draco said, staring at Granger's exposed cunt, excitement thrumming wildly inside him. "You're wet and I can smell you. You smell dirty, like the filthy little Mudblood you are."

"S-slumming it today, Malfoy?"

"Occasionally even the great lower themselves to mingle with the commoners. It builds strength and character, not that I need any elevation in either aspect of my life, of course," Draco murmured. "I'm going to do you a favour and lick you clean, Granger."

"I don't need any favours from you," Granger said, pushing finally at his shoulder.

"You don't really want to do that," Draco noted, stilling her hand. He waited a moment and then guided her hand to her cunt, lifting his eyes to hers in silent challenge.

_One. Two. Three. Fo--_

Granger's fingers budged his out of the way and she held herself open for him. Had it not been beneath him, he would have complimented her. As it was, though, he said nothing but rewarded her cooperation by opening his mouth and feasting on her offering. Plunging his tongue into the hot wetness of her cunt, he thrust in and out. Every few beats he would withdraw completely and kiss around her clitoris, then suckle it and push back the hood to flick the tip of his tongue against the sensitive little bud. Granger mewed and writhed like a greedy whore and Draco fucking loved every minute of it. He began to rock forward as he ate her, his cock meeting the fabric of his trousers in the most delicious bit of friction. It would take him a few more minutes to come, but Granger was close. The inner walls of her cunt clenched around his tongue as he fucked her and her clit was hardening. Draco lapped at her like a cat at a bowl of the freshest, heaviest cream and Granger shrieked and then the wetness was coming so fast. So fast that it dripped and Draco couldn't catch it all with his tongue; Granger's juices flowed down over his chin, her thighs pressed around his face, and Draco had had enough. 

As Granger's knees wobbled and she pressed her back hard against the laundry bin, Draco stood up and wiped at his face with the back of his hand. 

"My turn," he said, rubbing the hand wet with her juices against her face as she rubbed her palm over the fabric covering his cock. His trousers and pants dug into his cock as Granger moved her hand over him, but it was nearly overpowered by the ever-tightening coil of excitement in his belly. Granger was touching him of her own accord, and Draco was powerless to resist the draw of that gleaming spot on her chin. He leaned in and laved his tongue over the curve of her cheek, savouring the taste of her that he'd put there. Granger changed the angle of her hand and that was it. 

"Fuck," Draco grunted, and he shot off in his trousers. Granger pulled her hand back as Draco's cock twitched and he could feel the wet heat of his seed spread on the tailor-made trousers.

"You ruined your trousers," Granger said primly, stepping to the side as Draco slumped against the laundry bin.

"I can afford another pair," Draco managed, still riding high on the crest of his orgasm.

"Give them to me," Granger said promptly. 

"What?" Draco pulled at the front of his trousers, not wanting them to stick to him more than necessary.

"You sniffed my knickers. It's only fair I get to sniff your trousers, Malfoy."

Draco stared at her in disbelief, but he soon realised by the way her hand was settled on her hip and her eyes were narrowed that she was completely serious. He threw his head back and let out a loud laugh, then sobered up quickly.

"Not so fast, Granger," he warned. "I used my Slytherin cunning to acquire your knickers. Your stupid, bold Gryffindor tactics aren't going help you here. You're going to have to work for them."

A slow smile, something that Draco was inclined to describe as predatory, spread on Granger's face. "It just so happens that I am the hardest working witch in our year." After quickly rearranging her clothing, Granger exited the laundry without so much as a backward glance over her shoulder.

Draco felt a smile curve his own lips as he watched her leave and then something occurred to him.

He must _definitely_ be suffering from some mysterious and grievous calamity. The last twenty minutes had been spent licking at the Mudblood's cunt _willingly_ , and he'd even let her get him off.

With a sickness this far gone, he might not have much time left. 

As Draco performed a Cleaning Charm and made himself presentable to slip back into Slytherin, he made a mental note to owl his mother to make any necessary funerary arrangements _just in case_ , and another mental note to owl various specialists at St Mungo's. Draco Malfoy wasn't going to succumb to illness without a fight.


End file.
